Azula Meet/Mark
Desiccate, blank eyes without the former flare of gold dimmed out. The lines of slim cheekbones and dull shadows underneath jaded eyes darkened under the soft glint of the crepuscular sun. Her lachrymose face tilted up and her forehead thudded against the bark of the tree, lower legs dangling weakly over either side of the branch she was seated on, a few hundred or so meters above ground, knees trembling closely together until they too gave out. It was as if that blazing sky orb wanted to make her depressive features stand out, as to, in contrast, show off its illuminating beauty—as if they had an audience, or that she wasn’t enshrouded in an insignificant forest off the outskirts of nearby nations that no one ever visited, on a tall, indiscriminate tree no animal bothered to climb..with the exception of the two native birds perched on each demonic horn protruding from her head, not seeing her as a lifeform from hell, or a potential threat. They were right, in a sense...she wasn't strong enough to care, the outline of her ribcage jutting out in concurrence with her digestive growls and her pallid skin thinly wrapping like sandpaper over bones too strong to possibly belong in such a weak little girl who appeared to have skipped dinner a few, too many, times…or a woman who just didn't care enough to feed herself. Azula had been thinking...reassessing her goals. And alone, at the worst condition of vulnerability to top it off. Thoughts had flitted through... Why had she even bothered to come this far? What had she been searching for all this time? What had she wanted to do? She didn’t remember…or never knew in the first place. It certainly wasn’t for power; she’d achieved it. And then what? Lacerating everything in her path had quenched…well, something, within her...but that was short-lived. And even if it wasn't, the border wars were long over. Goalless, she stopped pursuing insecurity and surrendered herself to apathy...which had loyally led her to this..This hopeless, weakening state. Or was it so? Perhaps this was redemption… Wasn’t it better than taking actions without intents? Or living in lackluster? Hadn’t this made her different from those wealthy hedonists who would leave an orphan to starve while they stuffed their bellies with more than they could take..or those men who exploited and wasted leftovers... From something less than an animal... Monsters who do nothing -more- than simply live..sacrificing nothing in contribution. How very…Konohagakure-like. She couldn’t imagine why their shinobi had the dignity to work for those thugs. Azula hated peace. That kind of peace, handed on a silver platter, to the most undeserving of humans, Those who took what little life her mother had left, almost snuffing hers out too…Almost. It happened eventually…and they never survived long enough to find out. So now...she didn't know what to do. Hoping against hope someone would tell her...Even if it was a vague goal like destroying the nations or preach to Jashin...Something, she didn't care. She would grasp it. And that was precisely why escaped under the premise of a training trip...she knew she could be influenced by strangers and superiors, and Azu would rather decide for herself...only to realize she can't. She didn't trust herself. Turning her head, eyebrows obliqued, she looked at her hands, dry and scrawny, bones protruding from the skin, a sign she was losing her edge. She retracted them into their proper joints with a glimmer of chakra, and once more, thumped her head against the wall of the tree, this time, twisting her body, so that her back cushioned against the hard oak, the bones making a crackling sound. The birds, despite her movement, merely raised their wings and tucked out their tail feathers, never fluttering off, but one of them landed onto her shoulder, pecking her nape. Perhaps she should eat something, wash the dirt off her face and torn clothes, get well-needed rest, but she knew that would contradict everything she’s decided and shatter her resolve….her resolve to give up. She refused to die, But refused to live. The silver haired girl wouldn’t sense anyone approach, but by a fluke of timing or instinct, would mutter rather sardonically, towards what could have been the legacy of Orochimaru, or a trick of the light, with all the weariness of the laconic; “Are you one of those demons?" A knife-shaped bone would be offered. A head would be inclined. A sarcastic smirk would be tugged. "Please tell me you’re here to kill me….”